Your Secret Love
by skippi666
Summary: 14th February 1957 The London Two nurses, one card, and a Valentine's Day to remember.


**Your Secret Love**

Chapter One

The euphorically tranquil haze of Delia's half conscious mind gradually began to clear enough for her to appreciate the distressing fact that she was now awake. She lay perfectly still, attempting desperately to cling onto the last remaining fibres of her dream before they unravelled entirely, and were replaced by the harsh reality of soon having to leave her warm, comfortable bed. Hibernation, she thought vaguely, was surely something she should be looking into as a matter of urgency. Missing out winter altogether, and these dark, cold mornings seemed a wonderful idea. The bear in her dream had been most wise. Had there been a bear in her dream? She thought so. But maybe it had been an elephant, or a dog, or a doughnut… what?

Delia finally admitted defeat and forced open a bleary eye, squinting into the darkness until the faint glow of the alarm clock slowly swam into focus. Quickly snapping it shut again, she buried her face deeper into the pillow and groaned. Sooner than she had thought, it would seem. A torrent of colourful words, that would have sent her Mam reaching for the Lifebuoy if spoken aloud at home, flooded her mind in a mixture of English and Welsh.

Sighing, she eventually managed to extricate an arm from the cocoon of blankets she was tightly wrapped up in and reached out to turn on the bedside lamp.

'Christ!'

She hurriedly withdrew her arm back into the toasty haven of the bed sheets and peered around in search of her dressing gown, cursing again when she realised it was not within arms reach but was instead hanging up, a good twelve feet away, on the back of her door.

'Bugger.'

Right Busby, she thought. There's no time to be a wimp about it. The best thing to do is to make a dash for it. Just like Dad used to tell her as a child, when ripping off plasters in one swift motion, rather than her preferred method of peeling them away half an inch at a time - 'It might hurt a bit more cariad, but not for as long.'

Feeling a little foolish for comparing actual pain with the triviality of goosebumps, Delia flung back the covers and scurried across the room, plucking the yellow and white floral quilted robe from it's hook and flinging it around her shoulders with a dramatic shiver. As she glanced down to fasten the buttons, she spotted something poking out from underneath the door. She had expected she might receive a card or two today; but neither the two likeliest candidates; Billy the porter or that fair-haired junior doctor with the glad eye - ironically from ophthalmology, struck her as being brave enough to risk getting caught sneaking into the nurses home to make their delivery. She supposed who ever it was must have nabbed one of the girls to post it for them last night. Chuckling, she shook her head and crouched down to pick up the bright red envelope.

Delia considered it for a moment before wandering back over to the bed and sinking down onto the mattress. Now in bright lamplight, she could see that there was no name on the envelope. Maybe it wasn't meant for her after all. Oh well she thought, only one way to find out. She poked her thumb into the gap of one of the unglued edges and gently peeled back the flap, smiling as she slid out the card and saw a colourful cartoon drawing of a sweet little dog with big blue eyes, wearing a tartan scarf and sitting in front of a large red heart. Beneath the doe-eyed terrier, written in loopy red writing, were the words 'Be My Valentine.' She opened the card and froze, staring disbelievingly at the familiar, neat handwriting inside.

A surge of heat spread throughout her body as her heart began pounding in her chest. Was this really happening? She thought for a moment she might be in the midst of one of those awful dreams, where you appear to be going through the motions of getting on with your day, only to discover you are in actual fact still asleep and in terrible danger of being late.

She bit her lip to make doubly certain she was fully conscious, half expecting to find herself back in bed under the blankets. When nothing happened, she made an effort to control her breathing as she concentrated on the words in front of her.

The author had clearly made some attempt to disguise their writing but to Delia, the style was unmistakable. The angle that the loop of a capital D descended from the vertical strike, the sharply curved humps of n's and m's, the smooth, uninterrupted joining of certain letter combinations and not others; it was all so recognisable - to Delia at least. She had after all, spent what must have been hours pouring over patient notes written in the same hand during her rotation on male surgical.

It always amused her that she had been commended by the ward sister for her diligence in reviewing patient's charts and handover notes, when the truth was that her studious enthusiasm was born from a desire to commit every loop and flick to memory. It had struck her just how much the style reflected the woman herself. Elegant yet controlled. Each stroke strong, measured and deliberate. She would find herself, just as she was now, tracing a finger lightly over the ink, as though the act would somehow strengthen the connection between them.

There was no need for her to compare the writing with that found on the dozens of notes that had passed between them since then, which she kept safely tucked away in the pages of Aids to Gynaecological Nursing. Notes that contained nothing more than nightcap invites or firming up arrangements for the pictures, but which still meant the world to Delia.

Nor was there any need to compare the scent on the card. But she did so anyway, closing her eyes as she inhaled the faint smell of cigarette smoke, and a hint of Detol mixed with the musky fragrance of Eclat D'Arpege.

Smiling back down at the page, Delia read and re-read the words. Her eyes lingered for a long moment on the closing line. 'Your Secret Love. _Your_ Secret Love. _Love._ Not friend, not admirer, but love. Her stomach flipped at the idea. Could it be true? She had driven herself quite mad pondering the answer to that very question whenever they were in one another's company, wanting so much for it to be so.

It seemed as though they had been skirting around the issue for months now, neither of them bold enough to turn supposition into truth. But here it was in her trembling hands; the brave gesture that changed everything.

* * *

*********o

* * *

Patsy tipped her head back and slowly exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke, watching in idle fascination as the ghostly tendrils seemed to almost sparkle in the frigid sunlight. When the last ethereal wisp had melted away, she lowered her eyes and thrust a chilly hand into the inviting warmth of her coat pocket. Her whole body was well on its way to turning numb but even the risk of hypothermia was certainly far preferable to spending the remainder of her dinner break within earshot of giggling recitals of card missives and accounts of dance invitations. Or worse still; bearing witness to one of the achingly awkward exchanges themselves. No, she wanted to be as far away as possible from the gut-wrenching reminder of how utterly foolish she had been.

She had always felt the whole Valentines tradition to be a trifle gauche. A sentimental nonsense for love-blinded fools too easily parted with their money that was of no interest to her whatsoever. That's what she thought, at least right up until the point she found herself rather self consciously handing over coins to pay for the card she had placed onto the shop counter. She had taken time and care over choosing the right one. Nothing too conspicuous, too effeminate. In the finish she had opted for a relatively plain affair; no impersonal printed message inside to detract from her own thoughtfully chosen words. Buying a card had been one thing, but exposing her feelings in that card had been quite another. Sending it however, was something else entirely, and without a doubt, had been the most idiotic act in all her twenty-three years.

Patsy shivered. Partly through cold, partly due to the torturous recollections of the night before. She had sat at her desk, agonising for what seemed like hours. Turning over endless scenarios in her mind until the ashtray was full, the bottle was empty, and she had eventually found herself padding soundlessly along the darkened corridors to Delia's room. She had hesitated uncertainly at the door for a moment, straining to hear any sound from within, before bending and sliding the envelope under the crack. There were no doubts in her mind at all then. As she returned unsteadily to her room and climbed into bed with a contented smile and the prospect of sweet dreams to come. No doubts at all. But when she had woken; panicked; free from the whiskey haze that had fogged her mind and impaired her judgment mere hours before, she was hit with the pounding reality at what she had done. Her mind had raced with ways in which she could retrieve the card before Delia had a chance to open it. All manner of ridiculous ideas had presented themselves for consideration; from setting off the fire alarm to coating a ruler with sticky treacle. The mockingly simple thought that Delia didn't usually lock her door at night and that she could simply creep in before she woke, only occurred to her when any hope of rescuing the card, her friendship, and career slipped away with the ringing of her alarm clock.

The blonde nurse testily flicked the ash from her cigarette onto the ground beside her and sighed deeply. She had mercifully managed to avoid bumping into Delia until now but she knew it was only a matter of time before she had to face the consequences of her actions. She had spent the entire morning half expecting to be hauled into Matron's office, forced to explain the meaning of her depraved behaviour but no… she knew that whatever her feelings on the matter, Delia was far too good, too kind to do anything as spiteful as to report her. No, the real punishment she was facing was the risk of losing Delia's friendship. Her fingers began distractedly toying with the lighter in her pocket, slowly tracing its smooth metal edges with her thumb as she pondered with sadness the stark reality of a life untouched by Delia's smile.

The sound of approaching laughter caused Patsy to look up sharply and her stomach to flip. Even if she were on the other side of a crowded dance hall, her ears would so easily fall upon that sweet, warm sounding chuckle. It was undoubtedly one of the things Patsy adored most about the Welsh nurse.

Delia was walking towards the hospital entrance in animated conversation with her friend Eileen and a short blonde nurse she didn't recognise. Fear began flooding Patsy's mind and limbs as she watched the brunette glance over and slow her pace before gesturing to her companions to continue without her. The smile Delia gave her as she approached the bench however, gave her cause for optimism. She certainly didn't appear to be gunning for her blood.

'Hello Pats, what are you doing out here? It's freezing.'

'Afternoon,' Patsy replied, her voice sounding a little brighter than she had intended. 'I just fancied a breath of fresh air. Anyway, it's not all that cold.'

Looking unconvinced, Delia smirked before taking a seat next to Patsy and placing the books she was carrying down beside her. 'I thought you might have been avoiding the illustrious Doctor Peters. I'm guessing he sent you a card?'

'He did indeed,' Patsy confirmed with a weak smile. She took a deep pull on her cigarette in preparation for the agonisingly awkward conversation that would surely now follow. She exhaled slowly, careful to direct the smoke away from Delia, and readied herself.

'Just Mr Peters? Or have you been inundated with secret admirers?'

'Well, I did receive a rather sweet handmade card from one of my chaps on the ward. My money is on bed five. '

'Mr Benson? Has he been up to his old tricks again?'

'No,' Patsy contradicted, smirking as she recalled Delia's first shift on male surgical and her unsuspecting encounter with the former human octopus. 'On the contrary in fact. He's been quite the perfect gentleman since our little chat.'

'I'm glad to hear it. It was enough to scar a girl for life.'

Patsy's lopsided grin was matched by one of the most disarmingly beautiful smiles she had ever seen. As a point of record, all of the other smiles had been variations from the same diminutive nurse sitting beside her. She was aware that she was becoming caught in Delia's cornflower blue eyes a fraction too long for what might be deemed acceptable, to others at least. Reluctantly, and with great effort, she forced herself to look away. She focused on the cigarette still smouldering between her fingers, lifting it to her lips before pausing and considering the possibility that Delia had read the card and did indeed return her feelings.

There were times she had been convinced that she did. Times where she saw her own affection and desire reflected back at her in those startlingly blue eyes. When their hands brushed, their goodnight hugs lingered. She stroked her thumb thoughtfully along her bottom lip before clearing her throat and turning back to Delia.

'What about you. How have you fared?'

'Me?' Delia raised her eyebrows in mock indifference. 'Oh, my pigeon hole was chock-a-block. Well, it's understandable really. I mean, who could possibly resist my dimples and Celtic charm?'

Who indeed, Patsy thought wryly, glancing down at her lap before returning her gaze to Delia. 'Did any of them ask you to the dance?'

'Billy asked me again but I had a genuine excuse this time.'

'Oh?'

'I already have a date.'

'You do? How marvellous.' Patsy hoped she sounded convincing. She hurriedly took another puff on her cigarette in an attempt to detract from the disappointment that was in imminent danger of spilling onto her face.

'I'm quite excited,' Delia continued, 'I must admit. It's been ages since I've been on a proper date.'

Patsy wondered just when that had been. She remembered Delia mentioning a rather ghastly night out with a chap from radiography, but that had been during her first year. She had rather got the impression that Delia shared her own feelings on the male species. True, neither of them had ever voiced their precise meaning but… Perhaps she had been wrong. Wrong about everything.

Despite feeling as though her heart had been smashed into a thousand tiny pieces, she couldn't help herself from smiling at the unadulterated look of delight on Delia's face. She wished so much that it could have been her making Delia so terribly happy, but that she was happy at all was enough for Patsy.

'Oh cripes,' Delia breathed as she pushed back her sleeve to look at the time, 'listen, I better go. I want to try and squeeze in a quick bowl of custard before I'm due back.' She got to her feet and began unravelling the woollen scarf she was wearing. 'If you will insist on freezing your bones out here, in the name of fresh air…take this.' Before Patsy had time to object, the warm, grey material was being tied gently around her own neck.

'There. Snug as a bug.' Delia smiled before picking up the two text books from the bench. 'See you then Pats.'

Remembering that she really ought to be breathing, Patsy caught her breath and called out croakily to the brunette's retreating form. 'Enjoy your evening.'

'Oh I intend to,' Delia answered over her shoulder, flashing Patsy one of her endearingly impish smiles.

Patsy watched as the brunette expertly weaved in and out of the smattering of nurses making their way towards the hospital, before she finally disappeared through the building's large double doors. Sighing, she dropped her cigarette to the floor and pressed over it with the sole of her shoe. She brought a hand up to the soft scarf around her neck and teased the wool gently between her fingers. Bringing it closer to her face, she inhaled the comforting rose and jasmine fragrance of Delia's perfume. She closed her eyes. If this were to be as close as she would come to holding Delia, so be it.


End file.
